


The Red Queen and the Black Knight

by Goethicite



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Multi, Rough Sex, damaged people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goethicite/pseuds/Goethicite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucas North is a lie.  John Bateman is a traitor.  Natasha Romanov is recruiting, and Clint's just along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Queen and the Black Knight

**Author's Note:**

> I had to get Lucas North fucking Natasha and Clint out of my system. This started out as PWP, but some how took a turn for a bit of actual plot. Lucas is not a good man, and, if you haven't seen Spooks, I'd recommend S7-9 just for watching Lucas' downward spiral. This story assumes he survives his betrayal of his boss, Harry Pearce. And he decides to seek redemption.
> 
> Julorean read the rough cut and declared it not awful. So I finished it, gave it a once over, and posted it. So it's out of my brain.

Lucas North wasn't a liar. He'd died too young to be the 'liar man'. John Bateman was its own lie. Harry had let him go, let him run. Lucas was too damaged to salvage and too unstable to imprison. So Harry let him run into the underbelly of London. He was still watched, but Harry knew Lucas was in most ways loyal if broken and corrupted by his own self-interest. Lucas kept his secrets to himself and tried to lose himself in the half life of Luka Petrov, Russian immigrant and bartender. The Two Ducks wasn't a high end pub, despite the traditional name. It was a dive. Harry had something on the owner which Lucas didn't want to know about, but it kept him gainfully employed as a bartender and bouncer.

Between his wages and tips, Lucas could afford a studio flat that was rundown but clean. It wasn't much of a life, but Harry couldn't stomach anymore death even after what Lucas did. And Lucas owed him. Continuing to breathe was the only thing Lucas could do to pay Harry back. Lucas ran too much, drank too much, and didn't eat enough. He made it to work on time six days a week and watched Eastenders and footie on the seventh day.

Everything plodded along, despite the aliens in New York and the world changing more every day. Lucas kept breathing, half-dead or maybe just asleep in his own skin. Then he saw Her. She was a red-head with piercing green eyes, tits to die for, and legs that were as long as the day. Every man in the pub stared when she walked in, and there was something about her that was almost familiar but just out of reach. When he served her a vodka, straight with a water backer, her eyes lingered on his tattoos. When he'd tried to pull his sleeves down, she'd given him a knowing look that made him think she could see into his soul.

She'd been back night after night, just watching Lucas. There was some lust there. Lucas knew he was attractive. Women and many men liked to just look at him. But whenever she caught a flash of ink, there was something about her expression, amusement and weariness, that wasn't anything like any woman who'd hit on him while drunk. He started watching her back. Maya still hurt. Everything still hurt, but the red-head was beautiful and seemed sad. She was a piece of art playing at being human, a Greek statue turned to flesh sitting at the end of his bar night after night. The more he watched her, the clearer it became she wasn't just a beautiful woman. Her posture was too perfect. Her expressions were out of a textbook, and she was so still when no one was looking.

The night the red-head came to life was the night Lucas' world was upended with the rest of the globe. It started with a new face entering the pub and sitting next to the red-head. The man looked like any other dockworker, well muscled and with a healthy tan beneath his heavy, canvas jacket. He sat down next to the red-head and ordered a pint of bitter with an American accent good enough to be real. Rather than ignoring him, like she had ever other man who wasn't Lucas, the woman turned in her seat and slung a leg across his lap. The new man didn't react except to gently pat her thigh as Lucas slid him his drink.

There were shouts for drinks from the men watching footie on the other side of the bar, and Lucas was distracted. When he turned back, the red-head and the American were watching him. Her lips were moving next to the American's ear as she whispered to him. The American smiled at Lucas, and it wasn't anything like her predatory grin. His smile was easy, boyish, and invited Lucas to look a closer. Lucas had gotten very good at ignoring smiles like that while he was with MI-5. Harry had laid down the law early in Lucas' career. There were certain things MI-5 operatives just couldn't do. Things which were not morally wrong but not popular with the mainstream. It wasn't fair but had been a fact of Lucas' life for a long time. It had been eighteen months since Lucas had been MI-5. Eighteen months since Maya. (And Ruth. Ruth, sweet, brutal, unyielding Ruth. Saint Ruth who’s purity of spirit had been martyred for the greater good. Damn his hands for touching her, and strike him blind for seeing her.) Six months since he'd spoken to Harry. A year and a half of prison without any walls or cages, alone.

Lucas drew another pint and poured three shots of vodka. He carried them over to the red-head and the American. "On the house," he said, pulling one shot towards himself. "Za fstryetchoo." He lifted his shot.

The red-head and the American glanced at each other. Then the American shrugged. They both picked up their shots and tossed them back, toasting Lucas in return in perfect Russian. The vodka burned, and he let himself look at them. The man's shoulders were broad and his hands were square and calloused, but his mouth was soft as he smiled. He was relaxed, leaning into his friend. Lucas would bet his night's tips the American would go down on his knees with an easy push if Lucas was polite about it. The woman watched both of them with anticipation glittering in her eyes. She'd stopped pretending to be soft. Her body was taut with anticipation like she'd known what Lucas had decided before he did.

"Luka Ivanovich," he introduced himself.

"Natalia Alianovna," the woman said. She pressed her cheek to her friend's. "Moy drug Clint. Vy mozhete nazyvat menya Natasha." A turn of her head brushed her lips against the side of Clint's mouth. ""Ty dumayesh on dovolno?"

"Ya dumayu chto mne nravitsya vam oboim." Lucas replied easily. "Ya vykhozhu v polnoch." Natasha smiled and sipped her water, settling all the way into Clint's lap. They would wait for him. She didn't say it, but he could see it in the way she looked at him.

Clint and Natasha nursed their way through more beer, water, and sodas until Lucas' relief showed up. Somehow, they ended up walking back to Lucas' flat. He just didn't care about protocol anymore. Natasha was tucked under Lucas' right arm. Her hand was warm against the curve of his ass, tucked into his back pocket. Clint was pressed up against Lucas' left side. Lucas had worked his fingers under the hem of Clint's t-shirt to press against the soft skin at the small of Clint's back. There was scar there. The tissue was slicker and more crinkly than healthy flesh around it. Lucas rubbed the pads of his finger over the old damage, feeling the difference. Clint seemed to like it. He occasionally turned to mouth Lucas' neck until Lucas leaned down and kissed him.

When they finally stumbled up to Lucas' flat, every one of Lucas' nerves was sparking. It had been a so long since he'd had any sort of sustained human touch, even platonic. Clint and Natasha were warm. Natasha's hand, freed from his pants now that they were safely out of public view, played with the waistband of Lucas' jeans. "Kiss me," she said lazily but with steel that made it an order.

"Okay." Lucas turned and slide his arms around her, feeling how solid her slight frame really was. He kissed her, and she surged into him. Her teeth pressed against his lower lip. He backed down and let her control the kiss. When they parted, he was breathing hard.

"You should kiss Clint for me," Natasha murmured, her voice warm as honey but still biting beneath the sweet. She was dangerous. "Give me show, Luka. I want to so you two touch."

Lucas turned back to Clint. He was already dizzy with the heat of the two bodies standing so close. Natasha voice was just making it worse. Luckily, Clint was there to brace him. Lucas pushed Clint's jacket off the other man's shoulders to the floor. Unlike Natasha, who had controlled the kiss like it was combat, Clint let Lucas overwhelm him and push him against the wall. It couldn't have been comfortable. Lucas could feel his own desperation as he tried his best to get to skin, to the scars he'd felt.

Clint rode it out, gentling Lucas with nips. "Let me get off your jacket at least, Luka," Clint breathed into Lucas' ear. The too light denim jacket Lucas wore everywhere landed on the floor with buttons clicking against the tiles. Then Clint guided Lucas' hands to the hem of his t-shirt. "Go ahead."

Lucas pulled Clint's shirt over the other man's head and froze. Clint had Russian prison tattoos as well. Though none on his arms. On his chest was the Madonna cradling her child and curving low on his ribs small thieves cross was on the forehead of a skull with a candle on top. An eye was tattooed high on each pectoral. Clint turned and on his right shoulder, close to his spine was a bloody arrow with seven drops falling from it. Lower on his back was a cathedral with five spirals topped by a star with two, elongated points. Written across it in Cyrillic was Tolstoy. 'The strongest of all warriors are these two — Time and Patience.' When he turned back around, he passed a hand directly over his heart where a black widow was weaving her web. The red hourglass was the only colored ink Lucas could see. The web read, 'Sanguis et Corpus.' "Got stars on my knees as well, courtesy of a Bratva brat who I protected while I was in the zone. But you aren't a cop, right?"

"How," Lucas breathed, staring at Clint and Natasha. It hit suddenly how stupid he'd been. "You're an American."

"I went to prison for Nat," Clint said simply. He looked at her, and on his face was naked devotion which made Lucas want to hide away like some profane thing in the presence of the holy. "Two years out of five before she broke me out."

The candle, the skull, the bloody arrow were a killer's tattoos, a killer for hire. Lucas looked at Clint and wanted to feel revulsion, but, with all the blood on Lucas own hands, he couldn't bring himself to cast the first stone. Instead, he ran a thumb over the spider. "Blood and body?"

"Mind and soul," Clint replied. He kissed Lucas lightly and tugged on Lucas' shirt.

Lucas allowed the cotton to be pulled over his own head, and they were chest to chest. Leaning his weight against Clint to pin him, Lucas took advantage of the four inches he had on Clint to lean down tease Clint with light kisses before pulling away. "This is a terrible idea."

Natasha pressed herself against Lucas' back, kissing his tattoos. "Maybe. But we're doing it anyways." Her hands ran over the lines of his hips, fingers rubbing against the bone where the skin and flesh was the thinnest. One hand reached out and grabbed Clint's belt. Natasha pulled Lucas' and Clint's hips together, and Clint was very definitely interested in Lucas.

Compulsively, Lucas sought out the scars on Clint's back again. He pressed his fingers in hard. Clint groaned and nipped Lucas' lip before burying his face in Lucas' neck and putting teeth and tongue to work there. Natasha moved around the side to get a better view of them. Her hands trailed up their skin until she had a palm cupped around the backs of both their necks. She wasn't controlling them, just soothing and reminding them she was there. It was almost comforting as the smooth edges of her nails teased against the nape.

"Let him up," Natasha ordered. Lucas wasn't sure what she was talking about until Clint pushed him back and spun them. So Lucas back was against the wall.

"I want to blow you?" Clint warned. "That okay?" Lucas glanced at Natasha. "'Sokay, man. She likes me on my knees." Clint grinned. It was more than a bit feral. "You got a bed? That'll work best."

Lucas was nodding, looking at wet sheen on Clint's mouth from the kisses. He shivered as Clint ran the tip of his pink tongue delicately over chapped lips. The man had a clever mouth. "Door," Lucas finally forced out. "I'll show you." He walked backwards, confident in his Spartan apartment, unbuckling his belt as he went.

As he tumbled through the door with Clint, Natasha stole his belt. She pushed Lucas down on the bed. "Get your pants off," she ordered before turning to Clint. Throwing the belt over the back of Clint's neck, she pulled her friend in close for a kiss. Sometime while Clint and Lucas had been kissing, she'd gotten rid of her jacket. The tight, black dress she was wearing was enough to make Lucas groan as Clint lifted up her skirt and gripped her ass through her barely there panties.

Lucas scrambled to kick off his jeans and skim off his boxers as Natasha used the belt to press down on Clint's shoulders until the man dropped to his knees. Lucas gripped himself tightly as Natasha growled, "You know what to do, moy yastreb. Be a good boy." She gripped the belt in one hand, the two ends pinched together at the base Clint's throat. With her free hand, she hitched up the front of her skirt, tucking in the belt at her waist, reveal more nearly sheer, black material over red curls. "Take off my panties. No hands."

Clint's hands slid behind his back as he grasped his left wrist in right hand. He leaned forward and kissed the inside of Natasha's thigh, nuzzling the skin there with a rumbling, happy sigh. She slapped his face lightly. "Behave." Clint smirked. Then he sat up and carefully bit down on her stomach before dragging his teeth to the hem of her underwear and hooking it. Natasha stroked his hair as he worked the scraps of lace and sheer fabric off her hips until it dropped to the floor. Lucas watched the muscles of Clint's shoulders flex and Natasha's Cheshire smile, shivering and squeezing himself. They knew each other, and it showed in the affectionate gentling of Natasha touch and Clint's relaxed acceptance of the belt around his neck.

Natasha gracefully stepped out of the panties without letting go of her grip on the belt. Clint strained against the leather, tongue flicking out like it might convince her to let him between her legs. She held him still though. His nose just touching the curls at the juncture of her thighs. Over his own heavy breathing, Lucas could hear Clint whispering, voice audibly strained by the pressure on his throat, "Budte dobrey, Nat. Budte dobrey." (Please, Nat. Please.)

"What do you think, Luka?" Natasha asked her voice velvety and sharp, fabric that had been too close to a fired pistol. "Should I let him, or do you want his mouth?" She slapped Clint again, careful, more of a rough lovetap than a blow.

"Send him here," Lucas rasped out, unable to bear the cool air on his skin without the two of them bracketing him. "Bring yourself too, gorgeous." He liked how the belt looked around Clint's neck, black leather against darkly tanned skin, but that was between Clint and Natasha. Lucas didn't want to kill the mood by making Clint tense. So he didn't say anything when Natasha removed the belt before shoving Clint towards Lucas with a kick to the shoulder.

Clint crawled on floors Lucas, sleek as wolf but trembling with anticipation. Lucas carefully and slowly reached out to run his hand across Clint's head to his shoulder. When Clint pressed into his palm, Lucas began stroking firmly over the other man's neck and shoulder until Clint stopped shaking. He appreciated Clint's eagerness but preferred the more controlled desire Clint showed Natasha to borderline anxiety. Natasha settled on her knees behind Lucas. Her breasts were soft and inviting through the soft wool of her dress as she peered over his shoulder down at Clint. She nuzzled and kissed Lucas' neck, breathing lightly onto his ear, as a reward for his gentleness with her boy. They sat like that, Lucas on upright on the edge of the bed with Natasha behind him and Clint kneeling between his legs, for long minutes where Lucas just enjoyed how close they were.

When Clint had stilled to kissing and sucking on Lucas' fingers instead of trembling, Lucas tugged him forward. "I'd say something about shutting you up, but you're not much of a talker." Lucas stroked his fingers over Clint's cheek then slid a thumb between Clint's lips. He eased Clint's jaw open, keeping his eyes on the pale gaze, gone hazy. "Ready?"

Clint nodded, a small jerk Lucas felt through the thumb exploring the soft, wet inferno of Clint's mouth. Natasha began speaking in quiet Russian, reassurances and praise, as Lucas used pinch between thumb in Clint's mouth and the fingers outside, against the jaw, to guide Clint's mouth over his cock. It had been a long time. Lucas tipped his head back against Natasha's shoulders and let out a heartfelt moan of relief. His hips jerked up as he extracted his thumb from Clint's mouth, and the nail scraped over the side of his cock.

There was a grunt, not unhappy, from Clint at the rough handling. He bobbed his head up and down eagerly, one armed braced against Lucas' leg. The other hand was pressed into the hot, moist gap between the duvet and Lucas' balls, just cradling for the moment. Lucas held up his own weight to keep from tumbling back against Natasha with a hand on the bed. The fingers of his free hand gripped the hair at the back of Clint's head, adjusting the pace of Clint's sucking. Clint didn't seemed to mind the jerky corrections, and Natasha's tone was still light.

"Tell him he's a good boy," Natasha whispered in Lucas' ear. "Pet him, Luka."

There was enough bite in the words, Lucas obeyed. "Khoroshiy malchik. Jesus Christ, you're a good lad." Lucas curled over Clint, pushing the other man down harder and faster. Clint was making a pleased noise that was almost a whimper, eager and willing. The sloppy noises got louder as he tried to push Lucas' cock all the way down his throat and nearly choked. His grasp on Lucas' leg tightened as Lucas touched his cheek and glanced at Natasha to confirm. She gave a little nod, and Lucas carefully hit Clint's face, high on the cheek bone. It left a red mark which started fading immediately afterwards. "Don't hurt yourself, Clint," Lucas growled. "Take it easy."

Clint sighed, content, and re-paced himself. Natasha sank her teeth into Lucas' shoulder, demanding. Lucas yelped at the sudden spike of pain and slammed up into Clint's mouth, hard enough to gag the other man. With fingers clenched in the duvet, Lucas fucked Clint's mouth deep enough he thought he was losing his mind, eyes falling closed. Clint just rode it out, lifting himself higher with his bracing hand to keep from choking. "Move," Lucas warned. He put his feet against Clint's hips and pushed the other man away before his orgasm hit, remembered at the last moment they weren't using a condom. Natasha's hand took the place of Clint's mouth, and white fluid splattered across Clint's chest and stomach where he laid sprawled, mewling in disappoint.

Lucas wanted to pull Clint and Natasha close, slump over, and sleep. The rush of endorphins loosened tight muscles and emotional anxiety that had been so constant he'd forgotten about them. Instead, he reached down and pulled Clint up onto the bed. He found a corner of the sheet and wiped the spunk off the other man's skin. "Khoroshiy malchik. Moy malchik." Lucas babbled reassuring things in Russian to keep Natasha smiling.

Glassy eyed and flushed, Clint bit Lucas' fingers when they got to close to his mouth and almost scrambled away before Lucas pinned him down and kissed him. "Good lad. There's a good lad. Calm," Lucas breathed into Clint's ear. He rolled them onto to their sides and rubbed a hand down Clint's stomach to where the other man was hard and burning hot beneath the denim of his jeans.

Natasha had moved out of the way of the larger, flailing bodies. She stood by the side of the bed, efficiently divesting herself of the dress and her bra. Her smile was almost peaceful as she looked them. Lucas rubbed Clint through his jeans, watching right back. "Sit back against the headboard," she ordered as she climbed onto the bed, belt in hand. With a hand on his chest, she guided Clint to lean back between Lucas' legs. So the two men were back to chest with Clint's ass snugged up against Lucas' spent cock. Lucas shifted at the over stimulation, but the movement only made the situation worse. Natasha smirked as Lucas squirmed in place, pinned by Clint's weight. She slipped the tongue of the belt through the buckle and buckled it into the smallest loop possible.

Clint ducked his head as she dropped it around his neck like an oversized collar. "Push his jeans down, Luka," Natasha said, just taking the view. A happy sigh escaped her as Lucas unzipped and buttoned Clint's jeans. The denim was tight, and both Clint and Lucas had to shift to get the waistband around Clint's knees. Natasha tugged the jeans off the rest of the while Lucas pumped Clint's cock too carefully to be anything but a tease. With his other hand, Lucas kept petting Clint's side to keep him steady. The scars on Clint's lower back covered the top off his ass as well. They weren't shrapnel or burns, more like old abrasions. The difference in texture was as nice against his cock as it was against his fingers.

Straddling Clint's legs, Natasha leaned over his shoulder and kissed Lucas. She grabbed the belt high up against. So her hand brushed against Clint's throat. Her other hand guided Lucas' grip to Clint's arms. "He's stronger than he looks," she warned Lucas. Without any more foreplay, she sank onto Clint with a breathy sigh. Lucas had to strain to keep Clint still. Natasha moved like water, inexorable and concerned only with her own timetable. The venom green of her eyes was focused on Lucas, and he was enthralled.

Lucas could feel Natasha moving through Clint rocking against his body. He knew how good it must feel to be inside her from the unrepentant sighs and groans of pleasure next to his ear. Natasha seemed to ignore Clint, except to tug at his neck when he got distracted by Lucas' kisses. The soft, white skin of her breasts invited a touch, but she'd neatly manipulated both men to keep their hands on each other instead. All Lucas could do was enjoy the show and tease Clint until the other man was nonverbal.

When Clint orgasmed, he was nearly silent except for a hiss that could have been 'Nat'. Lucas bit his throat above the belt, remembering what Natasha had done to Lucas' own shoulder. It was nearly impossible to keep his grip on Clint's arm. The other man was bucking and straining towards the woman. Natasha rode Clint all the way through like rodeo cowboy, hanging onto the belt like it was her saddle strap. All her teeth were bared in a wild, self-satisfied grin as she finally released the belt. When she did, Clint went limp in Lucas' arms. There were some marks on Clint's throat, but nothing that would bruise. Natasha's iron grip on the belt and pre-buckling it too large had kept the loop safe from actually choking Clint at any point.

"Nat," Clint whispered.

She eased the belt over his head and kissed him, pressing into Lucas as she did. "It's fine, moy yastreb. Luka wants to play again. Just rest." With a softer smile, she touched her forehead to Clint's. "You can let him go, Luka."

Lucas did leave bruises on Clint's arms. The dark marks were already forming. He was also hard again, between the floorshow and the slack, breath-taking sexuality of Clint recovering from what Natasha and Lucas had done. Clint was flying. With a little distance, Lucas could see promising shininess of Clint's skin and how slick his cock and legs were from Natasha. If Lucas had a camera, he would have sold that image to every women's porn calendar in the world and made a fortune. Even Clint's tattoos looked like they were waiting to be washed off by a gentle touch. Natasha was tracing Clint's mouth, still swollen and red from the blow job he'd given Lucas.

From beneath her lashes, she teased Lucas with a smile, but he could read the hesitation there. Rolling over, Lucas grabbed a condom and the belt. The condom he tossed on the pillow. He unbuckled the belt, making a noose out of it and sliding it over his head. "This is your back up plan," Lucas said. He expected to feel more apprehension at having something around his neck again. Russia had been even longer than Maya. "If you say no, and some dumb cunt doesn't listen. Right?" Natasha's eyes widened slightly. "But you and Clint have been together so long, it's just a habit now when it's him."

"Yes," Natasha replied, not denying anything. Her eyes were narrow and knowing.

"I want you," Lucas said bluntly. "I want to fuck you, Natashenka. If this is what makes you comfortable, I'm game if you are." He offered her the end of the belt with a wicked grin. "Let me see if I can make you scream?"

With a chuckle, Natasha wrapped the end of the belt around her hand and pulled it snug but not tight. "Arrogance is not attractive in a man, Luka."

"Then I guess I just have to prove myself," Lucas said, suddenly glad he and Clint had already gone one round together, or he wouldn't last as long as a sixteen year old with Natasha in his laps, finally able to get his hands on her. He started out by fingering her, his calloused finger pads well lubricated by the fluid already leaking from between her legs. Even touching her was dizzying and hot enough, Lucas knew he must have been flushed red across his body. When she came, the nails of her free hand raked down Lucas' back. Unable to help himself, Lucas wiped his sopping fingers over Clint's mouth. He murmured, "Khoroshiy malchik," as Clint lapped Lucas' hand clean.

Natasha stroked Clint's arm before turning back to Lucas. "Care to try again?" She drew him in, moving so he was on top with her legs around his hips. Lucas rutted against her belly as she opened the condom. The band of the belt cut into the back of his neck as he reared up when she rolled the condom on him. It wasn't as comfortable as Clint made it look. Lucas dropped down, holding his weight on his hands as she slipped his cock inside her. Eighteen months and the death of what he'd thought was his true love since he'd felt anything like this. Natasha was familiar in some ways, brand new in others. Mostly she was a hard one, harder than even the women of MI-5. A woman Lucas couldn't break.

He fucked her like she was stronger than him, because it was the truth. Unlike Clint, she didn't groan, even when he sucked on one of her perfect breasts. The best he could get out of Natasha was some panting. Still, any reaction other than amusement was a victory. He could feel her free hand between their bodies, working herself until she clenched around him.

Lucas whited out the second time. Luckily, Clint and Natasha managed to get him off to his own corner of the bed to recover. When he came to, Clint had his head between Natasha's legs, and she was moaning like a lioness, cat-like purrs and mews interspersed by deep, content sighs. Lucas was too old and too tired to be interested in round three, but it was still a pretty sight. Natasha's chest was heaving. Her fingers were tightly curled in the duvet. Red hair was everywhere, spilling over the pillow and stuck to her face with sweat. She looked real, present in her pleasure. Clint's mouth made slick noises as he worked his tongue inside her. Lucas reached out and took one of Natasha's hands, squeezing gently. She turned her head, eyes still alert, and squeezed back in welcome.

Suddenly, Natasha's back arched like she'd be shocked. Her lips parted, gaze distant, breathing, "Ah, yastreb, da, da. Moy yastreb." When she keened, it was more animal than human. Then her legs went limp. Clint pulled away. The bottom half of his face dripped down onto his chest as he sat up. He smiled when he saw Lucas holding Natasha's hand. Crawling across Natasha, Clint curled up against Lucas' side, laying his head on Lucas' shoulder.

It was comfortable with his arm tucked around Clint and holding Natasha's hand. Lucas closed his eyes and gave in to what his body and hormones were demanding. Dreamless sleep was a luxury Lucas hadn't had since he'd betrayed Harry. He slept like the innocent sharing breaths with Clint and just touching Natasha.

They were there the next morning, not a dream. Lucas tucked his face into Clint's neck, content to be skin to skin with someone. Clint didn't seem to be really awake. He mouthed Lucas' neck with a mumble and went right back to sleep. Natasha was awake. She was the one who smelled like coffee as she sipped from one of Lucas' chipped mugs. It was strong enough to make his stomach rumble. She passed him a second cup.

Lucas dragged himself upright before accepting it, tucking an arm around Clint. "You didn't just come back to my place for the sex." He took a sip of his coffee. In the cold light of day, it was impossible to miss her scars, including the bullet hole in her stomach long healed. She was still gorgeous, but, if Lucas had thought Clint was the killer, he hadn't been looking.

"No. We came with a job offer. The sex was just because we wanted to." She looked fondly at Clint. "He told me you were like us. I wasn't sure at first… But if anyone would know, it's Clint."

"I don't understand," Lucas said bluntly. "If you're here, then you know what I am."

Natasha shrugged. "Traitor. Coward. Liar. Broken. You're only free by the grace of Harry Pearce. He's the one who reached out to us." She didn't react to Lucas' flinch. "He said you were the best once. You could be good again, start paying back some of what you owe."

Lucas shook his head. "I can't. There's nothing left."

"There never is. It doesn't mean the debt doesn't stand." She calmly sipped her coffee. "This isn't a choice you get to make, Luka. You will die with red in your ledger. How much of it you wipe out before then is the only thing left to decide."

The coffee sat heavily in Lucas' stomach. "What's the job?"

"SHIELD is being rebuilt from the ground up. The people involved have to be incorruptible, or it will fail again. You are just the man the new director needs. Pearce told us about your history, and we know MI-5. You're a professional paranoid with just enough morals leftover to be something like a good man. So long as you're given a pushing the right direction." Natasha shrugged with one shoulder. "The new director should be all the push you need. And us of course."

"Us?" Lucas asked carefully, not disagreeing or agreeing yet.

Natasha carefully balanced his mug before leaning over and kissing him. "Mmh. You still haven't made me scream, Luka." Her lips, gentler without the harsh, red gloss of lipstick, curled up like the Cheshire Cat. "Arrogant, but, with a little bit time, it could be honest instead. If I'm patient."

"Like to leave your things better than when you found them?" Lucas ran him thumb over Clint's cheek in illustration.

"No," Natasha snapped. "I like to keep my things in order. I don't leave them." She threw her legs over both men and returned to her coffee.

Epilogue

Skye growled at her computer, willing it to search faster. The strange, dark-haired man who'd shown up at their secret hideout seemed content to wait. It just grated on her nerves to have him standing there tall, dark, and pretty. Like a ghost she couldn't shake. Finally the computer gave her an answer, "John Bateman, aka Lucas North. Ex-terrorist and ex-MI-5. Though I'm not real clear on how that works out. Also, he's dead."

Phil looked over her shoulder at the picture on the screen and the feed from the exterior camera. "Well, he certainly looks healthy for a dead man. I wonder what he's doing on our stoop. We should go say hello." He checked his gun and nodded to Trip.

Trip nodded back, and the two men made their way to the side door where the stranger was waiting. The stranger was sitting his back against the wall and a battered rucksack in his lap. His eyes were closed, and his face was tipped up to the sun. He didn't move when the door opened. Phil cleared his throat, "Hello?"

"Zdrastvootye. She sent me." Without opening his eyes, he reached up and started unbuttoning his collared shirt until it was open to halfway down his chest. The blue lines on the center of his chest were visible first. Trip had to raise an eyebrow at William Blake's Ancient Days done up as a tattoo. The man pushed his shirt to the side on left revealing a fresher tattoo with sharp black lines and a red hour glass. A black widow was weaving her web over his heart with words in it, 'Anima et Pectus.'

"Blood and body," Phil murmured. "Mind and heart. Huh. You may as well come in. What does she call you?"

"Luka. You can call me Lucas North," Lucas said, opening his eyes. "I'm your new professional paranoid." His accent was crisp, British but not so thick it wasn't easy to understand. When he stood, it was a ripple of feline grace, familiar as Phil's own heartbeat. Natasha had been training boys again. Probably while the tattoo was healing.

Phil tipped his head to Trip, a request to stay at Lucas' back in case this turned out to be a Hydra trap. "Those are Russian prison tattoos," he noted blandly as they walked down the back hallways to the holding rooms.

Lucas shrugged. "I spent eight years as a 'special guest' of the FSB for my country. I think Clint had the right of it." At Phil's questioning look, he elaborated. "The only person who's secrets are worth suffering for are the people who keep your secrets. It was eight years before MI-5 bothered coming for me. Clint wasn't in that hell a second longer than Natasha needed him to be." The excess of details was smoothly interjected and completely intentional, a subtle response to Phil's real questions.

"So you met Clint as well," Phil replied cautiously.

"A little more than met, mate." Lucas flushed slightly. "She said I had to say that if you asked."

Phil relaxed. Natasha wouldn't have exposed Clint to Lucas unless she'd decided to trust the man. After Loki and the fall of SHIELD, she'd kept Clint wrapped in cotton wool, unwrapping him only when there was blood to be shed she couldn't manage it alone. Even Phil hadn't been allowed to see him after the superficial 'You're not dead' meeting. "That's just Natasha," Phil said quickly. "If she's not making someone uncomfortable, she's not enjoying herself." He redirected them from the holding cells to the new Hub.

"Skye, Simmons, May," he called as he led Lucas into the center of the room. "This is Lucas North, call sign Black Knight. He's a friend of Agent Romanov's, and he'll be joining us."

May stalked around North in a wide circle, before coming in closer to push North's shirt aside and examine his tattoos. North stayed very still. "Agent Romanov killed the last man to wear that tattoo."

"He betrayed her. He deserved every second of what he got," North replied without inflection.

"And you?" May asked idly.

"I don't like how treachery tastes," North replied, acrid. "It never quite washes off the tongue. No matter how long you wait, or what you drink."

May nodded in satisfaction. "You'll do." She patted Phil's shoulder as she walked past, "If he hurts one of us, even if it is in the line of duty, he's done. You can buy repentant killers by the dozen." North didn't even flinch.


End file.
